Qeteb flinched, and momentarily pulled back his fists, then he recollected himself. Silly woman, what was she doing, yelling like that?
He reached forward again. The Mother had been disgustingly easy. This one would be even—
Something sharp, heavy, and very, very painful hit him in the centre of his forehead.
He reeled back, blinking.
Ur sat back on her bench, replacing the heavy terracotta saucer on top of her pot.
None of the Demons had noticed that, as she’d struck Qeteb, her other hand had slipped something into the pot.
“Senile old nag!” Qeteb roared, shape-changing into a huge, nail-bristled boar.
He shook his tusks at Ur, his small, piggy eyes red and raging.
“Now that,” Ur said, quite calmly considering the circumstances, “is a little too infantile. Why can’t you meet me as a man?”
Qeteb’s form flowed back into the fully armoured version of his being.
“Better?” he said, and Ur smiled happily.
“Oh, much,” and from nowhere she produced a length of branch, tempered by the fires of the Demons’ destruction, and began to belabour Qeteb about his helmeted head with it, all the while keeping her pot safely clutched under one arm.
The other four Demons circled in closer, but they nevertheless kept their distance, their eyes very carefully watching Qeteb.
Surely he should be able to handle this one, decrepit woman? Was he weak, then?
Ambitious plots began to hatch in each, individual Demonic head.
Was Qeteb…vulnerable?
Qeteb roared, lifted his hands and tried to catch the branch.
But Ur was in her element, dancing about on suddenly nimble feet, cackling and crowing, the branch weaving through the air to escape Qeteb’s clutching hands and thunder repeatedly against his metal head.
Qeteb suddenly had enough. In the blink of an eye he transformed into a tiny weasel, and he scuttled under Ur’s robe, biting at her ankles.
Her cackles stopped, although her capering continued even more frantically, and she lowered the branch and struck about her legs, trying to catch the darting, annoying animal.
Suddenly she shrieked, and toppled to the ground (all the while falling so that she protected the pot), her skirts stained with blood.
The weasel poked its inquisitive (bloodied) head from underneath her hem, then wriggled free.
Qeteb assumed his armoured form again, and raised one metalled foot.
“Your belly,” he snarled, “is never going to be quite the same again.”
And his foot smashed down.
“The Mother is gone,” Faraday whispered, her fingers to her throat. “Dead.”
DragonStar lowered his face into a hand. Urbeth hadn’t helped, then.
A pace or two away Leagh lay quiet. She was conscious, although very wan and weak, and Goldman and Gwendylyr both crouched by her side, frightened for her.
Leagh’s hands were still clutched tight about her belly.
Gods, DragonStar thought, looking about the group. How are we supposed to defeat these Demons and bring Tencendor back to life?
A step at a time, he answered himself. A step at a time.
“StarLaughter,” DragonStar said, rising. “If you and StarGrace have had such a change of heart, perhaps you can aid Faraday to walk to the chambers below.”
StarLaughter hesitated, her face closed, then she motioned StarGrace forward, and they leaned down ungracious hands to help Faraday up.
StarGrace limped slightly, adjusting her feet from talons to flesh and then back again.
Qeteb’s foot never found its mark. Even as it drove down on Ur’s form, a white blur flew in from one side, and Qeteb found himself driven to the ground, and rolling desperately to avoid the weight of the thing that had attacked him.
His companion Demons were having their own problems with two other white beasts that had driven them fifteen or eighteen paces back with the strength of their attack.
Ur rose to her feet, her movements once again those of an arthritic old woman. She put the pot carefully to one side, and methodically dusted down her gown.
She completely ignored the sound of the battle going on about her.
Finally, robe and hair in order, Ur picked up the pot, settled it comfortably in her arm, and said: “I’m ready now.”
As one the three icebears backed towards her, keeping their snarling heads weaving in the Demons’ direction.
“A pretty trick,” Qeteb said, “but one not guaranteed to serve you forever.”
One of the icebear’s forms changed, resolving itself into a tall, elegant woman, her hair grey and iced with silver.
“All magic is not dead,” she whispered, “and even amid death, Qeteb, you must surely remember that resurrection is always possible.”
The Midday Demon had endured enough. Drawing upon all of his strength, all his power, every trick he’d ever learned, he rolled back his head, his visor opening with a snap.
Black smoke issued from within, roiling about his head.
“A very pretty trick,” Urbeth whispered, “but none of us, I fear, have the patience to wait about to see what it does.”
She extended her arms, and the other two bears, as Ur, crowded close.
“You took your time, sister,” Ur said, and Urbeth’s face tightened.
Above Qeteb’s head the black smoke formed itself into a snake’s head.
“I have no time for a discussion of my faults now,” Urbeth said, as she enveloped the four of them in a blinding snowstorm.
Qeteb’s death leaped forward with the speed and accuracy of a striking viper, but it bit nothing save empty air.
The two women and the icebears had vanished.
Chapter 29
Family Relations
StarDrifter found Zenith wandering down one of the more isolated corridors of their palace complex in Sanctuary, and wondered at the furtive—almost half guilty—look she gave as she recognised him and reluctantly stopped.
She carefully replaced her furtive expression with a warm and almost genuine smile.
But the hesitancy was still there. StarDrifter could see it crowding the depths of her beautiful eyes.
“Hello, Zenith,” he said, and reached out to take some of the pile of linens from her arms. “Let me help you with these.”
“But I thought…Axis would need you.”
StarDrifter laughed. “Axis? Need me? Never! He has an army, the Lake Guard and thousands of willing winged men and women to aid him. He does not need me.”
Since DragonStar’s departure Axis had lost no time in searching out an—any—escape route from Sanctuary. The bridge couldn’t have been the only way…could it?
“And has anyone had any luck?”
“Zenith, it’s only been a few hours. And Sanctuary…” StarDrifter lapsed into silence as he fell into step beside Zenith. Sanctuary was massive. It apparently stretched into infinity. All the reports StarDrifter had ever heard from those Icarii who’d flown as far as they could was that it just stretched, and stretched…and stretched. There was no “end”. There was no back wall let alone a back door with a helpful sign saying Use In Case Of Emergency.
“And Sanctuary hides its secrets well,” StarDrifter finally finished, rather lamely. “As do you. What have you been up to? No-one has seen you for the past few days.”
Where have you been? Who have you been with?
“I’ve been keeping myself busy,” Zenith said, her tone as false as her words.
“Stop,” StarDrifter said. He dropped his pile of linens on the floor, took the pile from Zenith’s arms and threw them to one side, and grasped her hands in his.
She stiffened, and a look of mild panic entered her eyes. “You said you wouldn’t,” she said.
“Wouldn’t what? Love you? I cannot help that, nor stop it. Zenith…what’s going on?”
She looked away, her eyes desperately searching for something else she could legitima
tely look at.
In this barest of corridors there was nothing, and so Zenith reluctantly looked back into StarDrifter’s face.
“Who have you been with?” he asked, very low. His hands tightened fractionally.
She briefly closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and answered with all the courage she had. “WolfStar.”
“What! What!” StarDrifter let go her hands and stepped back in shock and utter anger. “Why WolfStar? Why?”
Zenith’s eyes filled with tears, and she clasped her hands. “StarDrifter, I wanted to end it. I needed to see him, and come to terms with how I felt about him.”
“And have you?” StarDrifter’s face had gone completely white, but his eyes blazed with such rage that Zenith barely restrained herself from running away.
“I have found…I have found it easy to spend time with him,” she whispered.
StarDrifter was so profoundly shocked that he was incapable of speech. She found it easy to spend time with WolfStar and not with him?
“It has been good to be able to talk things through with him.”
“And you can’t talk things through with me?” StarDrifter said.
Zenith flinched, and turned her head away.
“You don’t feel comfortable with me, but you can sit and chat comfortably with the man who raped and abused you?”
“He has changed—”
“Bah! WolfStar never changes! Zenith, what can you possibly find with him that you cannot find with me?”
Her eyes blurred with tears. “I do not regard him the same way as you,” she finally managed.
StarDrifter’s face and voice were rock hard. “And that is?”
“As a grandfather.”
Nothing else she could have said would have shocked StarDrifter more. He stared, helpless, his mind unable to come to terms with what she’d just said.
“And have you,” he whispered harshly, “managed to go to his bed, then, if you can’t stomach mine?”
She stared at him, then she lifted a hand and struck him hard across his face.
Without a word, Zenith bent and collected the linens, then marched, straight-backed, down the corridor.
StarDrifter stared after her, his entire world collapsing within him.
The room was cool and dim, only a single lamp burning on a far wall.
Zenith silently placed the linens in a chest, then turned and sat on the stool by WolfStar’s bed.
He stretched out a hand, and she took it without hesitation.
“What is wrong?” he said.
Zenith let her tears slide down her cheeks. This was all wrong. What she wanted was for StarDrifter to so take her hand, and for her to lean against him and sob out all her woes and let him make them all better.
StarDrifter was all she wanted, and yet here she was with WolfStar. Why? Why? Why?
Because, strangely, she felt comfortable with WolfStar in a way she never could with StarDrifter. StarDrifter was her loving, protective grandfather.
WolfStar was merely another man: one who caused her complex and conflicting emotions, true, but he was just another man.
Although he was also technically her grandfather, Zenith found it impossible to perceive him as such.
Just a man. But a SunSoar. A man of her own blood, and a man she could possibly learn to trust.
She pulled back her hand, and WolfStar let her go.
“Has the Healer seen to your wounds today?” she asked, even though she knew the answer from talking to the guardsman on duty outside.
“Yes. I feel…better.”
Indeed, WolfStar looked remarkably better. Whether it was the attention he was receiving from the Healers, or the undoubted benefit of breathing the untainted, undemonised air of Sanctuary, or simply his own remarkable recuperative powers, WolfStar was very definitely improving. His colour was good, his breathing unlaboured, his wounds scabbing and crusting over cleanly, and he could move about the bed without wincing with every minor effort.
Very soon, Zenith thought, he would be up and moving about the room.
She stiffened at the thought.
“I will not harm you again,” WolfStar said, looking at her carefully.
Her mouth twisted. “But will I harm myself?” she said.
WolfStar struggled up onto one elbow. “Why should you?” he asked.
Zenith looked at him. His face and form were half-hidden with the shifting shadows cast by the lamp, but she could see the gleam of his eyes, the hard planes of his face, the rise and fall of his chest.
“StarDrifter and I,” she said, in a matter-of-fact tone, “have been having some personal difficulties.”
“Yes?”
Zenith stared at WolfStar suspiciously, trying to find the merest hint of sarcasm, or even triumph, in his voice. But it was not there. What she could see of his face was merely wearied by the effort of raising himself up to look at her.
Zenith shrugged, letting her eyes drift away. “We are SunSoar,” she said. “And our blood calls each to the other.”
She glanced back at WolfStar, but his face was unreadable, and he remained silent.
“But…but however much I love StarDrifter, and I do, and however much I want to be his lover, and that I desire as well, I cannot.”
“No,” WolfStar said, and his voice was low, thoughtful. “You could not, could you?”
Now it was Zenith’s turn to remain silent.
“You are Azhure’s daughter,” WolfStar said, “and you could no more sleep with your own grandfather than you could thrust your own child into the fire.”
And then he burst out laughing, apparently with genuine amusement. “Ah! I forgot. That you could do, and that you did do, very well, didn’t you? Oh no, Zenith, do not go. I am laughing, but at my own stupidity and careless words than at you. Please, stay. Please.”
Zenith sank back onto the stool, and let WolfStar take her hand again.
It was warm and dry and very soft and reassuring.
“I used the wrong words,” he said, “but the meaning is true enough. StarDrifter is your beloved grandfather, and as much as I like to belittle the man, there are some things he does well—and being the warm, protective grandfather is one of those things. But now he wants to bed you. Poor Zenith. Your Acharite reserve must be at full war with your Icarii longings.
“And yet I,” his voice lowered, and his hand slipped down to grasp lightly her wrist, “am a full-blooded Icarii man with no such reserves. A man who abused and wronged you, true, but one who has now been suitably punished, is suitably regretful…and who is of SunSoar blood.”
“Shut up!”
His fingers tightened. “Hate yourself, Zenith. Not me. Not for speaking the truth.”
WolfStar paused, and when he resumed his voice was hard with truth. “Why are you here? Why? Why come back?”
Chapter 30
The Unexpected Heavens
As StarDrifter had said, Axis had more than enough help without begging assistance from anyone. Sanctuary was peopled with helpers, and while few as yet realised the imminent danger that faced Sanctuary, those that did were numerous enough, and eager enough, for what Axis needed.
There was the Lake Guard, twiddling their thumbs about now that DragonStar had no immediate need for them. There was Zared, and the vast army and loyalty he commanded. The Icarii numbered in their tens of thousands, and while Axis had only told FreeFall and EvenSong and their immediate aides about the demonic danger facing Sanctuary, they could command enough Icarii into the sky to blot out even Sanctuary’s apparently limitless light.
“Just a few score will do,” Axis had said, smiling.
Now he, Azhure, Zared and FreeFall stood about on one of the larger balconies of the main palace complex, Katie clutching Azhure’s skirts as she had once clutched Faraday’s. Katie had been very, very quiet in the past few hours, and while Azhure had worried about it, and tried to ask the girl what was wrong, Katie had only shaken her head and refused to speak.
&nb
sp; The Mother’s death had made her fully conscious of the terms of her own sacrifice.
A light, warm breeze blew over the balcony, tugging at coat and shirt-sleeves and wrapping the folds of Azhure’s gown about her body. Zared, tired of the inaction, wandered listlessly about the balcony itself. It was tiled in a wondrous translucent turquoise, and it had salmon crystal columns supporting a balustrade of the same material.
“Not something I would have commissioned myself,” he said dryly.
“It could be,” Azhure said, one of her hands absently ruffling Katie’s hair, “that the original Enemy had a more ostentatious taste in colour and vibrancy than their later children.”
“And it could be,” FreeFall said, walking to the balustrade and looking out over the orchards and fields spread out below them before turning back to the others, “that Sanctuary is merely storing all the colour and vibrancy that has been lost above. ’Tis no wonder, perhaps, that at times it appears a trifle gaudy.”
Axis sighed, and restrained the urge to pace about restlessly. Where were the scouts he’d sent out hours ago? Was there no news?
“Storage for no reason,” he said, folding his arms and tapping a foot impatiently, “if Sanctuary is about to collapse about us.”
Axis’ eyes flitted skywards as if he could see the cracks appearing in the sky already. He remembered how the wards covering the Star Gate had sickened and died, and he thought that much the same would eventually happen to the skies of Sanctuary.
I curse Isfrael, he thought, and then let his mouth twist wryly. He had spent the past forty years cursing the wrong son; he would have done better to raise Drago in love rather than hate.
But would love have tempered him into the man he is now?
“What are the other Star Gods doing?” Zared asked.
Azhure glanced at Axis, and then shrugged elegantly. “The events of the past few months have been, I think, rather too much for them.”
“They can’t cope?” Zared raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “What sort of gods are they, then?”
Axis gave a harsh laugh. “None of us are gods any more, Zared. For Adamon, and Xanon, as for the others, the shock was overwhelming. They lost contact with their mortality over the tens of thousands of years they revelled in their immortality. It is no wonder they find it difficult to adjust. For Azhure and myself,” he lifted a hand, and briefly touched his wife’s hair, “the shock was less, although still profound. Our mortality was still close, and…”